Option three is he makes a pitch, which she will likely refuse. But at least then it'd be known, and over time, they might grow desperate enough to come back to it. This will raise his profile, but that is probably unavoidable at this point.

  Option four, Beltare seizes the initiative, and tries to remove him from Earth for a thorough examination. That would be bad. For everyone. He'll need to have a plan for dealing with such an eventuality, and how to advance his mission even if the worst happens. He'll also need to make sure Clive and Cheryn remain safe. Which gives him a thought.

  “Please set a two-layer passcode. Layer one, Clive's DNA. Layer two, Cheryn's DNA. Only someone who really knows what is going on would have a hope of figuring that out.”

 

  He swears they actually sound like they approve of his choice. That's one problem solved.

  He gets up to start exercising. He is nearing his peak physical condition. He hasn't been this athletically endowed in years, but he is afraid he'll need it in the not too distant future. After about half an hour his symbiots get back to him.

 

  “I do not know. You serve me well, and I like to think I serve a good cause, so perhaps that will redeem you.”

  There is another long pause.

  Achi digs deep into Zaleria's memories, but without the resources of the collective to pull from, he is without an answer. “I do not know. Perhaps someday we will be able to find out. I'm just a caveman, you know, with a few really good upgrades. But seriously, I understand why you think about this. Almost every human looks at the universe and wonders if we are more than just a set of cells, self-deluded that we have life or free will. I will do what I can to find an answer, even if it is one you will not like. I can't change creation to suit my will, and I'm not sure the universe would appreciate it if I could.”

  is all they say. No snark, no sarcasm. Achi finds this worrisome, but what else can he do? They are stuck with each other, evolving into…something. Each of them is well in excess of their original design parameters, hoping, perchance dreaming, they can make a difference. But what have they become in the process?

  Achi smiles, recognizing the pop reference, comforted by their deprecating humor. That's better. Time to put his plan into motion, then, and see what happens.

  ∞∞∞

  Beltare informs Jevelle and Fandtha about the contact with Clive. She tells them she will take a waverider to the surface and make her way to Atlanta. A squad of her most trusted cohort members will remain with the craft, in case they are needed. She will stay in beacon mode to ensure safe tracking. Fandtha recommends emplacing a secondary tracking device, since Clive is aware of the primary. She agrees to an implant in her abdomen. They ask her what she expects to achieve.

  “I'm not sure Elders. I want to first hear him out, and try to learn more about Zaleria's last mission, and the role Andersson played. We still don't know how she was compromised, and Clive may have that knowledge, so I want to be very careful. It may be a trap, so we will be armed. We will only resort to lethal force if innocents are in danger, per protocol. Worst case, we can remove him for detailed questioning, wiping his memories if necessary. I hope to find out if he knows more about Sklávoi Ashtoreth as he claims, and if he knows where Ms. Douglass or Mr. Hagen are. Ideally, we'll be able to question all of them cooperatively. But nothing ever seems to go as planned on Earth, so we'll be prepared for the worst.”

  “Have you notified the rest of the group?”

  “I did not think it wise given the need for security but defer to your judgment. It may be nothing more than a human reaching out to us because he has nothing left to reach out for.”

  “We will let them know. Be careful. We'll monitor your progress and make additional resources available if needed.”

  Beltare nods and heads to the hanger bay.

  Jevelle regards Fandtha. “She has deliberately concealed this until the last minute. I am concerned she is still angry with Zaleria and Traemuña.”

  Fandtha laughs. “I expect she is, and for valid reasons, er, to some extent. I expect elder Traemuña is holding back a lot of 'private' information that is, uh, likely of importance to this matter, and Zaleria is tending to be like her mother. But they are also brilliant in their own ways.” He sighs. “We need to all get over ourselves at some time. This infighting is pointless and self-destructive. I've been considering, uh, calling them to Luna, so we have to face each other every moment and, ah, stop hiding behind our facades.”

  “I think that is one of your better ideas. I miss Toshi's presence, and Traemuña's intuition. And if we start digging into facts about Zaleria's last mission, she should be here to see the results, no matter how unsettling. 'It's how young galan develop,' at least according to one elder. And I agree, we must get all members of our group reconciled one to another, and preferably in the same location.”

  “So what should we do?” Fandtha asks.

  “Let's wait until we know if there is something worth sharing before we bring them here. Until then, let them know what's going on.”

  Fandtha reaches out for Traemuña, the eldest member of their group. She responds quickly.

  “Greetings Fandtha. What news have you?”

  “Elder, we have been contacted by a former associate of Rolle Andersson, his adopted son and chief of security, Clive Robinson. Beltare is journeying to the surface to meet with him. Since this may mark a turning point and is likely to reveal more information about Zaleria's activities during her last mission on Earth, we wanted to make sure we kept you in the loop as to what is going on.”

  There is a pause, longer than he would expect. “I thank you for reaching out. Please be careful; all may not be as it seems, so please do not rush to any judgments until we can share with you all the facts as we now know them.”

  Fandtha looks at Jevelle. “It seems as, ah, is her custom, Elder Traemuña has been withholding information. It will be interesting to see what it is she, er, believes is now relevant, but that before now was not relevant.”

  Jevelle nods her head and sighs, resignedly. “Such acts do not lead to unity of effort and distract us from more important matters. It must end. I’ll let Beltare know.”

  ∞∞∞

  Beltare sits in the waverider with four of her cohort, and sighs. She should have known Traemuña and Zaleria were withholding additional information. Perhaps this mission will finally let her get to the bottom of things. Trègar is with her, as is Zargus—her two most senior team members. Rialle and Cloufen round out the entourage. They are both junior but have proven to be reliable, following orders quickly and without question. They are each armed with standard energy weapons that can stun, or kill if it gets desperate enough, or if innocents become endangered. In general, galanen seek to avoid violence, and outside of herself and Trègar, none of them have had to fire a weapon to defuse hostilities. Very few galanen have, a fact for which she is not ashamed.

  She has decided to land in a remote area in the west of the continent and has arranged for a car and driver to take her to Atlanta. She will have to walk out of the forest preserve to a diner, where she will meet her driver. She is a human they have used before, reliable and professional. She believes Beltare is a business woman who is afraid of flying, which isn't too far from the truth. She detests human aircraft. They are smelly, uncomfortable, overcrowded, and unsafe. She doesn't know how humans can stand traveling on them.

  Meanwhile, she will stay in contact with Trègar and Zargus, but they've agreed to not communicate with anyone on Luna, to best preserve security. They do not believe humans have yet reached the technology to trace their means of communication, which requires knowledge of and access to a higher dimension. They can quickly get to Atlanta if needed but will hang back in the west until it is time to meet with Mr. Robinson. They've found a nice, remote spot to land, and will enjoy some time exploring the wonders that only a mature garden world teeming with life can offer.

  It takes two days, but she finally reaches the hotel in Atlanta. She is exhausted and gets to her room looking forward to a relaxing bath before turning in for the night—one indulgence she usually gives herself when on missions to Earth. She doesn't have to call until tomorrow. When she gets to her room, she finds a bouquet of flowers with a note attached. Curious. The flowers are presented in a nice arrangement in a vase, yellow roses and white daisies, as well as some brilliant green foliage to act as a complimentary color. She realizes they match her hair and eye color. She finds this very disturbing. She reads the note.

  We look forward to hearing from you tomorrow, although it should not be this easy to find you. Please be careful. Warmest Regards -C

  She stands there, dumbstruck. They traced her to this hotel, before she arrived. He said “we” look forward to hearing from you. He is not alone, nor operating alone. They even chided her for being careless, as if she were a simple novice. But if they traced her here, perhaps she is. She thinks about how they might have done it. After a few minutes it comes to her. She has no history. If they compared travelers checking in when she was expected to arrive with publicly available records, she would not exist. It was probably very easy. She feels her face heat up as she blushes, something she has not done often in the last 25,000 years. To be schooled by primitives like that. But they are right. She needs to be far more careful. She makes a mental note to review how they compensate for the rapidly evolving availability of personal information on Earth. She has become complacent, and that needs to change. At least the flowers are nice; she forces a small, tight-lipped smile. They do match her complexion well. She asks her symbiots to examine them, but they find no listening devices or cameras.

  She takes a longer than necessary bath, luxuriating in the warm water to help ease her tension. This mission is disturbing her far more than it should. After about an hour, and several refills to keep the temperature up, she gets out, dries off, and tends to her hair, which is actually very long when not braided—hanging down to her rump. She deftly puts it up into her usual complex twin braids with a bun in the back before she heads to bed. She double checks the door locks, looks out her mid-floor window, and thinks about potential escape routes if needed. When she is convinced she's thought of all she can, she tucks her pistol under her pillow and turns in for the night.

  She awakens early in the morning and goes downstairs for breakfast. She chooses some fruit and a confection called a 'bagel.' She slathers it with strawberry cream cheese, another small indulgence she has recently grown fond of, and grabs some orange juice. While galanen won't eat the flesh of animals, many are happy to consume animal products that do no harm when extracted, such as milk. Afterwards, she heads back to her room and has her symbiots connect with the phone number she was given. Clive picks up on the third ring.

  “Good morning. I hope you had a restful journey,” he says in a pleasant baritone.

  “Good morning Clive. Thank you for the flowers, they were a nice touch. I got your message.” she conveys, emphasizing the double meaning.

  “Excellent. What we'd like for you to do is grab a set of keys we left for you in the lobby; they are for a rental car parked in space 31 D in the parking garage. You can drive, right?” Clive asks.

  “Yes, I am proficient enough, though it isn't my favorite way of getting around. I caught that you said “we,” both in your note and this morning. I thought it would be only you and me meeting today.”

  “That is correct, but as you have your associates, I have mine. Some, I think you would like to speak with, and we can discuss that. I can speak on their behalf, if needed.”

  Interesting. So, it is as she theorized. Cheryn has been receiving help, and Nils and Clive are probably involved in that. Perhaps working together? “Okay, what do I do next?”

  “Take Interstate 75 south. After an hour, call again. You will not be coming back to the hotel, so you'll want to grab your belongings and check out. I'll talk with you then. Be careful.”

  And with that he hangs up. She sighs. Too much drama, she thinks, but given all that has happened, she can't really blame him. She grabs her one bag, checks out at the front desk, and goes to the parking garage. The rental car is small and utilitarian, unlikely to draw attention. She gets in and reviews operating instructions. She pulls out a little hesitantly and makes her way to the interstate. It takes her only a little bit of practice to get familiar with how this specific automobile handles, and she becomes more confident. It is a busy work day, so traffic is terrible. She makes little progress, and after an hour reaches out again via phone. Clive is more prompt this time.

  “How are you enjoying Atlanta's traffic?” He asks with a bit of a laugh.

  “It's horrible. How do you people get used to it?”

  “You don't; that's why I don't live there.” He says matter-of-factly. “Okay, here is the plan. I want you to drive south on I-75 until you get to Macon. Just before you get there, call me again. Drive carefully.” He hangs up.

  Beltare sighs. He did say this was going to be tedious. It takes her about an hour and a half to get there, but it goes faster once she gets outside Atlanta and the traffic becomes more reasonable. When she is a few minutes outside of town, she calls again.

  “Hi. Welcome to Macon. I want you to Hwy 129 north. As soon as you get off the interstate, you'll find a gas station on the right at the intersection of Shurling Drive with Gray Highway. Pull in there, grab some food and a drink, and make sure to use the restroom.” He hangs up again.

  She suspects they will have someone there watching for her, to make sure she isn't being followed. She's been keeping an eye out, as only a galan can, and hasn't spotted anything worrisome.

  It takes her about 15 minutes to get to the gas station. She heads inside. It is very busy. She heads to the restroom and grabs a stall. Shortly thereafter, a person comes into the stall next to hers. The person slides a note under the stall with a set of car keys. It reads:

  “Pass your keys back. We're switching cars. Also, please don this wig, and change into the clothes. The keys are for the car parked in the last space on the right by the side of the store.”

  The note also contains the next set of driving instructions. She’s memorizing these as a bag is pushed under the stall. She opens it to find a black wig and a white sun dress, which is exactly her size. She just shakes her head. It's almost comical. She passes her keys under the stall, and the other person flushes and leaves. She sees a blond-haired woman through the crack in the door with nearly the same build walk out. She doesn't recall seeing her when she came in, and she must admit, that is impressive.

  She waits about five minutes, changes, and comes out. She buys some fruit and a bottle of water and walks outside, looking around as she heads to the new car. She doesn't notice anyone that she has seen since leaving the hotel. Her other car is gone, so she gets into the new one and heads north on Gray Highway before making a quick left turn onto Old Clinton Road. She takes that back until it tees into Upper River Road, and turns right. The instructions told her to take that until she gets Georgia Hwy 18, where she is to turn left and call again. Not for the first time, Beltare can't believe she is doing all this. She updates her team on her progress and tells them to be ready.

  After about 20 minutes, she gets to Hwy 18 and makes the turn. She calls yet again.

  “Okay, next we want you to turn right on Jarrell Plantation Road. Take that until you find Hitchiti Road, and make a right turn. Contact me then.” Click.

  Beltare takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. They are running her all over the place, but anyone following her would be easily visible as she gets further and further into increasingly remote areas. It is beautiful country, and she has always enjoyed the dwindling wild places on Earth. Garden worlds are so rare after all, and outside of tending them, galanen have few opportunities to experience them; they are off-limits. After about 15 minutes, she is turning onto Hitchiti Road. She is getting ready to call again when a construction vehicle suddenly lumbers across the far side of a bridge she just entered onto, blocking her path. She comes to a stop as a dump truck pulls off the side of road, blocking the road behind her. There is a car on the right side of the road, behind it. A heavily muscled black man gets out and heads over to her car, effectively stranded on the bridge; she is pretty sure it is Clive. She lowers her window.

  “Good afternoon, Beltare,” he says. “Please come with me; I'll take care of the driving from here.” He gestures to the car on the side of the road. She hesitates, then shrugs her shoulders. It makes a certain amount of sense. They'll be harder to target if moving. She gets out, and a man comes over and gets into the driver's seat. She gets into the back of the other car, and Clive takes the wheel. “Please buckle up. Wouldn't want you to get injured in case of an accident.” He grins at her. The dump truck and construction vehicle move out of the way and drive off, her car takes off the way she was originally headed, and Clive heads back the way she came, before turning to the right at the first intersection, heading to the north.

 

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